Wednesday, January 13, 2016

the real reason I don't want to win at Powerball

My dad liked to play the lottery.

Back in the day, in the 70s and 80s when he did most of his “gambling,”
there was no such thing as the Powerball.
Instead he wagered on what three digit number would be chosen that
evening. Most of his bets were small ones; a dollar, a dollar fifty – one bet straight,
one “boxed.” Boxed meant that even if he didn’t get the
order of the numbers right, he would still win something if he guessed
correctly on the digits.

Dad had a little notebook and pencil that he kept in the
drawer of the side table. Stored along with the notebook was a book about dream
interpretation that would, I suppose, help Dad choose the right numbers. I
always found that amusing. He wasn’t a particularly superstitious man (although
he did believe in ghosts) and he seemed too devout to me to entertain any sort
of real belief in that sort of mysticism. I think it was just for fun. This
means something significant. He wasn’t the sort of man who did much for fun,
unless you count mowing the lawn in shirtsleeves with a pushmower after a long
day of working on the assembly line.

I remember the evenings when I’d be getting ready to go out
with friends on the weekend. Dad would be watching TV – I’m pretty sure it was
Wheel of Fortune – waiting for the time when the numbers were drawn. It was at
an odd time, something like 7:26, and there was a woman with an odd name –
Aggie Usedly – hosting the show. Funny
that I still remember that after all these years.

So Aggie would draw the numbers, and Dad would jot them
down. He won sometimes, but I don’t remember him saying anything at the time.
It’s not like he jumped up and down or even smiled; he just wrote the numbers down
and put the book away.

He said that “if you have a dollar, you should play” and “Every
workin' man should buy a ticket.” I rarely took his advice. I did play once,
when I found a bracelet at work, turned it into the lost and found, and was rewarded
with it 90 days later when no one claimed it. There was a price tag on the
back: it was marked $165. Dad took me to
Safeway and we bought a ticket. Of course we played it straight and boxed. I
think it came up 156, and I won. I don’t remember how much, and I don’t think I
ever played again. But I do remember going to Safeway with Dad and learning how
to buy a ticket.

Today everyone is at Safeway or 7-11 or the gas station or
wherever it is people buy tickets these days. With or without their dads, they
are standing in lines, filling out papers with lots of red ink and lots of
little numbers. Some are doing it for fun, others to join in the cultural
excitement. I imagine many are uttering prayers as they choose the numbers,
perhaps the only prayers they’ve said in a long time. Certain that a lottery win would change their
lives for the better, they cling to a hope that somehow, this time, things will
go their way. They will win. They will win so much money. They will pay off
their bills, and their mom’s bills too, and maybe even their rotten kids’
college loans. They will get big new house and some cars, boats, who knows,
maybe even a yacht. And of course they will never work another day in their
lives, and they will travel to beaches where it never rains and maybe even buy
their own island.

And the decent people standing in line with all the other
regular greedy people? When they win, they will do So Much
Good. They will create nonprofits and foundations and charities, and they will
feed the hungry and give clean water to everyone, even the children in Flint.

I don’t want to win the lottery, at least not one like the
Powerball. It would do too much damage.

It’s not because I’m not materialistic. I’m massively
materialistic. I love things. I beautiful clothes and art and everything you
can buy at Target. I love to travel. I love food and wine and houses, oh man,
do I love houses. I am still working to overcome the envy I feel when I see the
beautiful homes others dwell in. I want it all so badly sometimes. So badly that I thank God daily that I don’t
have the ability to obtain much more than I need.

Even on a day like today, when I have only 39 cents in my
checking account, I am wealthier than most people in the world. I’m not talking
about the non-material blessings in my life, things like my health and family.
Those things are priceless. I’m talking about money. I have a roof over my head
and more clothing than I need. I have more than one coat and several pairs of
shoes. I have enough food for the day. I have cleaner water than some people in
my own country.

I don’t currently have a job or a steady income. My husband
has a seasonal based commission only job. But I still have more resources, a
better education, and better possibilities for good fortune than the vast majority
of the inhabitants of this planet. I don’t need more, and I know myself well
enough to know that too much more would make it much more difficult for me to
become the person I’m meant to be.

But you’re a nice person, friends say. You could do so much
good with that money! Imagine the possibilities! That is true, I suppose. But
what would it cost me to give away what I don’t need? Perhaps I’m selfish, but
I want the joy of giving from my want. I want the experience of loving people
by allowing myself to suffer a little to do good for them. I could have endless
financial resources and I could give and give and give, but I don’t think I
would be learning to love. And the world doesn’t need money. People don’t need
money to solve all of their problems. They need love.

This sounds so pious and trite. I realize that many people
suffer because they don’t have enough money to provide for themselves and their
families. However, good people winning lotteries is not the solution.

The solution is good people giving what they can give, right
now, today.

If you can offer a hot cup of coffee to a homeless man, do
it. If you can babysit for a tired young mom, or sit with the elderly, or make
your husband a sandwich, do it. If you can donate thousands, do that too. But
don’t wait for the money to be generous.
You’re cheating yourself of one of the greatest joys you will ever
experience.

And don’t feel badly that you can’t hand each of your
children enough money to pay off those loans and buy their own homes. You would
only be denying them the joy of earning their own way, or maybe the joy of
learning to depend completely on Providence.

I suppose it’s simpler than I’m making it out to be. I don’t
want to win the lottery because I don’t want to forget about that Providence.

I’ve experienced the indescribable joy of trusting
completely in God. I recognize that He is responsible for every good thing in
my life: for my health, my family, my
home, and yes, my money. Sometimes he provides by allowing me to work at a job
I enjoy. Sometimes not. Sometimes he allows my husband to provide for me.
Sometimes he gives me what I need through the generosity of a friend or a
stranger, or even a program of the government. My job is to be faithful, to use
my gifts to best of my ability, and to be generous. The rest is up to Him.

Yes, God might choose to provide for me with lottery
winnings. Full disclosure: my husband
asked me to fill out one of those red inked forms, and I did it. When I’ve told
him in the past that I would not want to win a large sum, he has assured me
that he won’t tell me if I do. That’s fine with me.

In the meantime, I’m waiting on a sure thing. I am
completely confident that God has me covered. I am honestly excited to see how
He is going to work things out this time. He’s never let me down. With him, I
always win.

If Dad were alive, I’m sure he’d buy a ticket, and he’d tell
me to buy one too, even though I’m not a “workin’ man” these days. He’d
probably even loan me a buck to do it. But to be honest, I’d rather have Dad
here to take me to Safeway just one more time than win any lottery. Maybe I’ll see if Mom has any of his old
notebooks filled with numbers tucked away somewhere. She might even have one of
those dream books. But I don’t need one to guide me. I know what my dreams
mean. And I know the ones that come true – and the ones I still hold deep in my
heart – have nothing at all to do with lottery winnings.